Stolen moments
by LireCasander
Summary: He knew it was wrong. He knew he shouldn't. He knew it would only bring problems to his life. But he couldn't help feeling it.


He knew it was wrong. He knew he shouldn't. He knew it would only bring problems to his life. But he couldn't help feeling it.

He had been fighting the feeling for six years: at first because Potter was only a boy, and then because he himself was his teacher. It was not right.

But it was already impossible for him to hide it. Just seeing him, those emerald eyes fixed on any other person, was unbearable. He had done everything in his power to ignore it, but it seemed that Potter provoked him. He didn't mind how strange or inadequate it could seem, that insuffrable git always managed to be in his way.

Potter was at his office door looking for trouble. He fought with Draco Malfoy when Snape walked by the corridor. He destroyed cauldrons in order to be punished with endless nights alone, together, once or twice a week.

And Snape found it more and more difficult to avoid what he felt when the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Drive-Him-Mad appeared in front of him in public. No matter how hard he wanted to avoid them, those stolen moments when they shared the tremulous light of a candle in the dungeons were worth the trouble of teaching Potter.

Nevertheless, he hated the moments when the boy made a fool of himself just to get punished. Because it was clear that he looked for punishments like a dog looks for a lost treasure.

_That_ was one of those moments.

Friday evening, last class of the whole week. Double Potions with both Gryffindor and Slytherin. And Potter seemed determined to obtain a punishment.

"Potter," Snape said frowning, "I remember that my exact words were 'two drops of liquefied horn of Austrian dragon' and not 'half the bottle'."

"Sir, I'd rather say they were 'half the bottle'," Potter insolently replied.

Snape decided to ignore that act of rebelliousness.

"I want you all to write up eight inches about the uses of horn of Austrian dragon in all its forms, for Monday. The class is dismissed, clean your cauldrons."

He turned his back to the students, trying to move away from that jade gaze fixed on his, when a sudden explosion forced him to face the class.

Potter and Malfoy were in the middle of the dungeon, surrounded by a dense smoke. Dumbledore's Golden Boy had exploded his cauldron, singeing the blond hair of the Slytherin Prince. But neither of them had a wand in his hands.

Snape observed that Potter's face seemed contorted, as if by excessive effort. He had heard about the boy's capacity to perform wandless magic.

"Who is the responsible for this?" Snape barked, although he already knew the answer.

Potter only nodded, and Snape was forced to intervene in the affair.

He couldn't not punish him.

"Potter, twenty points from Gryffindor for this act of student terrorism. And you're punishment will be with me tonight; come to my office at eight o'clock."

He left the dungeon without looking back. He missed the triumphant gaze in the eyes that had captivated him. He missed the contented smirk on the lips he could kiss eternally.

At eight o'clock precisely, Potter was at the dungeon door, waiting for instructions. Snape rejoiced in the vision of the student, and almost forgot that he was supposed to punish Potter. He waved his hand, showing a high pile of dirty cauldrons at the back of the classroom.

"Clean them. Without magic."

Potter grumbled a little, but he immediately started working. Potter's diligence made Snape uneasy, but he chose not to pay attention to that.

Half an hour later, Potter stopped without explanation, rubbing his neck. Snape approached him to ask the cause of the unauthorized rest, but he was caught by a shy smile.

"I have a bad ache in my neck," explained Potter. "I think that I wrenched my back playing quidditch."

"That's not going to get you out of your punishment."

Snape was so close that he could brush Potter's messed up hair with his nose. Their eyes met and stuck, so they couldn't look away. At four inches, at two, at one. At half an inch, Potter leaned in and kissed him.

It was a tender kiss, exactly what Snape needed to feel that tingle rush through his veins. He kissed Potter fervently many times, letting the passion win the battle with his head.

He knew it was wrong. He knew he shouldn't. He knew it would only bring problems to his life.

But Harry Potter was everything Severus Snape needed, though their encounters had to be disguised as punishments, both of them looked forward to them with eagerness.


End file.
